


(il)licit affairs

by kurdapya



Category: Thai Actor RPF, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sorry Nong Stu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurdapya/pseuds/kurdapya
Summary: A desk. A jealous lover. Gratuitous office sex.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 5
Kudos: 139





	(il)licit affairs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. This is my first foray in RPF. I don't usually write about real people but the boys are running around my head 25/8 so I figured I'd just let them wear shoes. 
> 
> Written for MewGulf's 600th day celebration.

The air conditioner suspires out a groaning sound before finally stopping, seemingly unable to continue the pitiful task it had been doing. Mew wonders idly if the series of blackouts the city has been enduring lately had triggered a fuse, and mentally notes down to have one of the staff call maintenance. The air in the office is rapidly losing its cool just as quickly as he has been releasing his sighs.

He walks over to the window on his left and opens a small crack in order to let some air in. The brick wall isn’t helping the forecasted thirty-three degree Celsius. The sun is at its peak, making this side of Siam Paragon feel like a furnace. He lets out another sigh before he leans on the wall and turns his attention to the younger man once again.

Gulf is standing by the far wall of the office, face turned away, hands deep in his pockets. The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in one of the displays ticks in time with the throbbing vein on his neck.

_Tic. Tic. Tic._

Gulf usually visits him in the studio on his days off, always discrete enough to not warrant attention from any lurking paparazzi or curious fans. They have had to learn to be constantly vigilant and to always make extra measures in order to protect their privacy as their popularity continues to rise. Though the public has generally resigned themselves to the idea of them being more than a ship, and them not denying anything isn’t helping any matters, what is theirs is still not up for display.

Yai Nong had an interview for Elle Thailand earlier. He claims to have been in the area. Mew knows it’s a lie. Iconsiam is on the other side of the river, and the traffic on this part of Pathum Wan has been abominable. If anything, Nong should have been on his way to their shared Sathorn condo by now. But Bester isn’t there to disclaim Gulf’s words, and there is an almost seething six-footer in his office. Mew figures it is best not to question any gaping logic.

Mew knows why his lover is in such a stint, of course. He called the younger man earlier regarding another photoshoot with one of the ateliers he has worked with before. Saying Gulf wasn’t happy when some of the behind the scenes were released is an understatement: too many oglings, a grip on places hands should not normally touch, and people crowding in his personal space that are too close for comfort. Mew doesn’t want to relive the resulting argument, but he won’t forget what happened right after anytime soon. So, he called his Nong, not really to ask for permission, but rather, to elicit a response. The reaction he is getting right now is enough to make all his blood rush south.

Call him insatiable, but any sane man would be after seeing Gulf Kanawut storm a studio and demand an audience with its CEO. Mew hungrily takes it all with glinting eyes and a calculative smirk.

The open window hardly gives any breeze. The heat isn’t helping the already heavy air and Mew feels sweat starting to bead at the back of his neck. He loosens his tie and pops a few buttons on his dress shirt. He hopes to lose it entirely any time soon.

“You are going to refuse them,” Gulf says with finality, leaving no room for discussion, his hardened voice in matching severity with his clenched jaw. He crosses his arms then uncrosses them, agitated enough to let his discomfort show, until he decides to shove his fists in his pockets once again.

It immediately catches Mew’s attention. He looks at the younger man with fascination as another thought forms in his head and the fire starts to burn stronger, buttons momentarily forgotten. He can’t look away even if wanted to.

“You will decline the job.”

Mew always finds his Yai Nong _na rak_ ; his gummy grin, his ears going red when he’s feeling shy, the loving gaze he always _always_ looks at Mew with, even when he’s slightly annoyed when one of the Stus delivers to him something in Mew’s stead. Though he never shows it since it’s not in his nature, Mew knows every little twitch he makes. After all, it’s not a secret that he has stared at every part of Gulf’s body.

_Na rak._

But the Gulf before him is far from that Nong. His brows are drawn together in thought, eyes stern as he looks outside the glass window unseeingly, a faraway look in his cherubic face.

It isn’t very often his Nong demands something from him. Gulf is the type who pleads, who requests. He nods in understanding because he knows the nature of their careers. He’s the one who always tells his Phi with a soft smile to meet him in the middle. He says _please, Mew_ as tears roll down his pretty face and Mew thrusts inside him. Very rarely is he one to let heavy emotions get the best of him.

The evident jealousy in his lover adds more fuel to the growing hunger inside Mew. It has been some time since he last saw it grace Gulf’s face as both of them grow more assured of their relationship and their attentions hardly falling on anyone else outside the two of them. A jealous Gulf is a feral Gulf. He makes it known and never tries to hide it. He’s a territorial cat with claws out and fangs bared, ready to swipe when provoked.

It looks extremely tantalizing on him.

Emboldened by the fire, a devious smile threatens to break on Mew’s lips as he asks in a low voice, “What makes you think I’ll do that?”

He wonders if the sizzling atmosphere is a product of the non-existent coolness from the broken ventilation; but even with a blast of fresh air or a miraculous turn of Thai weather, it will hardly affect anything at all.

Gulf lifts his gaze from the glass window, the unforgiving afternoon sun still bathing the concrete jungle with obvious humidity. He turns to look at Mew, ready to give him a piece of his mind. But before he can get a word out, he pauses as their gazes lock.

Mew sees Gulf’s entire face shift, furrowed brows raising in intrigue, eyes growing hooded, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips. Mew must have shown the fire so openly that it only took the barest of thought for the light to reach Gulf.

People call him naive, but Mew knows Gulf can be as equally devious when he has a plan in mind. He catches on so fast when he absolutely wants to, and right now Mew is the only one who knows what Gulf wants.

Gulf advances from where he stands at the other side of the office. His footfalls are quiet, only the distant tumult of Bangkok traffic and the wavering noise of the rest of the studio are heard in the otherwise silent room. Mew debates moving from where he is leaning against the wall, but decides to remain at where he’s standing, quietly regarding the approaching man with lidded eyes.

His lover halts his steps in front of him, his eyes searching Mew’s. After a beat, brown orbs glint mischievously. Mew knows Gulf can now clearly see the hunger and desire which are also evenly mirrored in his own.

Gulf brings his thumb to Mew’s lower lip, delicately swiping the skin. “Because I’m telling you to,” he says lowly, cutting the prickly stillness, their height difference seemingly more pronounced than it usually is.

The older of the two brings his gaze to the other’s mouth automatically, without fail, and Gulf uses that to his advantage as he perceptibly licks his own lips, painstakingly slow that Mew has to hold back a growl threatening to escape.

“And we both know you love it when I do that.” Mew has to force himself to look at the man before him, arrogant in this light, sinfully attractive and so utterly irresistible. He belatedly thinks about the appointment he has in an hour but ultimately throws caution to the non-existent wind as he lets their heavy breaths and his lover’s intoxicating prowling rip away all his remaining restraint. This Gulf is all compulsion and caprice, and he is, and will always be, Mew’s for the taking.

The hunger is now relentless, clawing their way out of his skin. He knows Gulf is equally feeling it as he feels his gasps grow more erratic and laboured.

Mew looks up and grins like the devil. “Then beg, Gulf Kanawut,” he prays against his lips. He sees the corner of Gulf’s mouth tug into a minute leer before Mew switches their places and slams him to the wall, snarling as he swallows the leer to a bruising kiss.

His Nong lets out a surprised huff that gets drowned in the haze of furious desire. His mouth is feverishly hot and so, so captivating that Mew gives himself to it without any pause. Gulf is also giving back just as strongly and they both lose themselves to the kiss until all Mew could hear are his whimpers.

Gulf tastes like menthol and kiwi smoothie and something else that is entirely Gulf. Mew chases it with sucks and nips on his chestnut lips. He swallows down every mewl and gasp and kisses Gulf deeper.

Mew always thought kissing is a skill one needs to perfect. He had to gauge every surge, every pause, and every slide of tongue. But with Gulf, he never gets to think about any of it. Not only is it natural for them, like their lips were made just for each other, they are experts when it comes to kissing the other, and kissing has always been their science.

He grabs Gulf’s nape to angle the kiss deeper while his other hand is pinning his slender hips to the wall. Gulf sucks air through his teeth, kissing him, hot and open, pulling at his hair. Mew releases a gasp after a harsh tug and Gulf uses the momentary break to explore his mouth with his tongue. Not one to be upped by this bold Yai Nong, Mew licks his way in, tasting the fire that is fuelling their mutual need.

The hands in his hair clutch Mew’s shoulders, then grabs the side of his neck like he's afraid Mew would disappear. Every nerve in his body is jazzed and buoyant with need. Mew’s tongue petted wetly at his, mouth slanted. He means to get as much of Gulf as he can.

Mew untucks Gulf’s shirt as he smooths his hands on his back then his ribs, eliciting small gasps from him that Mew finds absolutely delicious. Gulf lets out a guttural moan as Mew swipes his thumb at the younger man’s nipple.

“You need to be quiet,” he smirks against Gulf’s lips.

Gulf only huffs in response as Mew lifts his shirt over his head, opening up to a milky expanse of skin that Mew needs to touch lest he becomes untethered.

Gulf gasps as Mew bows his head and turns his attention to his bared neck. The sweaty flesh is warm in his mouth. He tastes salty with sweat and a tanginess that is exclusively Gulf that Mew just has to lave at every stretch of skin. He sweeps his tongue across it, and imagines the bruises he wishes to leave behind. He has to forcibly restrain himself from doing just so.

Gulf lets out moan after moan as Mew’s hand drag slowly over the growing bulge in his thin chinos. Gulf’s voice breaks, but Mew doesn’t budge, not this time. He doesn’t let him move his head, keeping him pinned against the brick as he devours him in the most graceful way one can when absolutely delirious with desire. He turns him inside out, sucking and biting at his already swollen lips. It’s filthy. It’s wonderful.

He feels Gulf’s spine curve as fingernails scrape his chest through his Oxford shirt. Buttons bounce off the tiled floor one by one as hands wrestle with the fabric. It's almost inelegant in their rush because diligent isn't fast enough, nor is being gentle sufficient enough, hard enough to give either of them what they need. He discards the shirt at their feet where Gulf’s dark one is, damp and forgotten, leaving behind his maroon tie dangling, and rivulets of sweat on his skin. His mind is no longer beating with _hot, hot, hot_ but has now been replaced with an endless and a relentless _touch, touch, touch_.

Mew feels his lungs start to burn that has nothing to do with the overwhelming heat inside the room. He replaces the hand on Gulf’s bulge with his own tenting need, now almost plumped to fullness, grinding it slow against Gulf’s, making him shift and rut and moan without an ounce of dignity.

Mew clamps a hand around his open mouth and whispers darkly to his ear, “I told you to be quiet.”

Gulf furrows his brow and glares at him, ready to contest Mew with his own momentary reasonings, so Mew connects their hips, slowly and intently, and silently wishes the walls are thick enough to drown out their shameless rutting. He doesn’t think he pays his staff enough to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear every time Gulf feels brave enough for these _in-clandestine_ meetings.

There are hands on his hips and they guide him into a stop. Gulf’s heavy pants mingle with Mew’s and they try to catch their breaths before Mew brings his hand to the taller man’s arm, a question already starting to form on his lips.

Before he could ask what’s wrong, “I want you to pound me against that desk,” Gulf says, the whispered words reverberating inside the room.

Mew clenches the other hand he has around his Nong’s arm as he knocks their foreheads together. He has to forcefully shut his eyes as he acquiesces to the image of Gulf bent on top of the mahogany tabletop with a murmured, "Fuck."

Gulf nips at his lips. “That’s the idea,” he says slyly and uses Mew’s tie to pull him towards the desk in question.

Mew starts to loosen it completely as they reach it, but a hand stops him.

“No,” Gulf starts. “Leave it,” he says, demands. “I want to see you naked and only with your tie on.”

Mew has to steady himself momentarily to get his bearings. He’s never prepared when Gulf is like this. He doesn’t want to stop.

Pulling Gulf even closer, Mew kisses him again, his tongue finding solace inside Gulf's mouth, wanting to taste every last bit of him. He rakes his fingers across Gulf’s back and starts thrusting to his hips which prompts Mew to moan against his lips. He curls his fingers around Gulf’s shoulders, his mouth trailing to Gulf’s cheek and throat and chest, nipping and biting and licking. Gulf arches his back, weaving one hand in Mew's hair to urge his mouth closer while Mew’s hand finds its way down, and starts stroking him through the cloth once again.

“We need to be quick. I have a meeting in thirty-five minutes,” Mew near-whispers, his hand eager, his breathing numbered.

“I told your secretary to cancel it.”

Mew stares at him disbelievingly.

“What? I was only thinking ahead,” Gulf supplies matter-of-factly as if he’s talking about the scorching Siam sun, tone indifferent with a hint of impatience.

_Ah._ Why is he even surprised anyway?

Mew distantly remembers an agreement for a partnership between MSS and Harlem Studio, but his lust-addled brain is making everything else seem foggy and the only thing he can and wants to process as of now is evoking more of Gulf's obscene mewlings.

At that very moment, an image of Gulf giving orders to his employees takes a vivid form in Mew's mind. “Fuck,” he repeats.

Mew can’t help but sink down to his knees eagerly. He gracelessly undoes Gulf’s chinos in his haste and frees his swollen member. He looks up at him, eyes glazed as he drifts forward, mouth closing over the tip.

“Mew,” Gulf rasps, head falling backwards.

Mew swallows him down without preamble, his throat working around him like reflex. Gulf is hot and heavy and leathery on his tongue. Mew hollows his cheeks as he guides his tongue on his underside, a bunch of nerves lay in waiting for him to dote upon.

Gulf whines long and filthy as Mew licks on it over and over, taking as much as he can, his mind devoid of any thought except his mouth on Gulf’s cock while he gasps and moans and sighs out his name. Gulf spreads his legs wide and eager, keeping a firm grip on Mew’s hair as if to anchor himself.

Mew pulls back a bit and licks the head, eyes cast upwards, staring at him, taking in every response he has.

“Fuck, your mouth,” Gulf rasps after a string of incoherent cussing.

Mew only stops to slide Gulf’s underwear down, keeping him steady as he steps out of it. Then Mew moves forward, dragging his lips along the inside of Gulf’s thigh, biting at the soft skin before laving his tongue over it. The dirty sounds they are making make Mew’s hands bold as they clench Gulf’s ass. Gulf whines softly, fingers tightening at Mew’s hair, tugging and pulling him up.

There is a pause as they work in concert in grappling Mew’s clothing, the movements of their hands in a race with their own breathings.

“I want to be inside you,” Mew groans as he brings his mouth to Gulf’s throat. He feels like an animal. He wants to maul, to graze, to rake, and sink his teeth into the milky flesh and rip them apart.

“Mew,” Gulf breathes out as he looks at him, eyes dilated to endless inky pools, and he rocks towards him in an urgent rhythm. His face is softened by the flush on his cheeks, his ears alarmingly red, and his chestnut lips parted on a quiet expiration.

With lust swimming dizzyingly in his eyes, Gulf keeps gaze locked with Mew's as he brings his hand to his kiss-bruised lips. He starts to lick his fingers, his tongue lecherous as he shamelessly sucks two fingers into his mouth and releases them with an exaggerated pop. He then swirls his tongue over his fingertips, and Mew almost loses his control, wanting to give in to the urge to push the other man on the table and take him then and there. Instead, he watches Gulf's tongue coat his fingers, dipping in between, circling his hips mindlessly as he does so, brushing Mew’s own clothed need with the motion.

“I want you inside me,” Gulf murmurs, releasing the fingers from his mouth and guiding them between his parted thighs.

_Alaiwa._

The hand holding Gulf grips him tighter. “Baby.”

That extra spring in his step when he woke up at his side of the bed earlier must have done wonders. Mew makes another mental note and files it under _for future references_.

Licking his lips repeatedly, Mew circles the opening with the tip of his forefinger. Mew pushes past the tight ring of muscle, and Gulf automatically tries to stifle a groan on Mew’s neck, body clenching around Mew’s finger with every intrusion.

Gulf is hot, and still a little loose from the night before. Slowly, Mew withdraws his finger, and gasps when Gulf immediately pushes back against it. Mew immediately takes the cue and slides a second finger in alongside the first, smirking at his Nong’s quiet whimper at every thrust. Slowly, the muscles relax, and Mew shifts his fingers in and out, slowly at first, and then keeping a tune as he finds a rhythm, Gulf making quiet exhales as he works his fingers. He makes a sudden thrust and his fingertips brush at something that rips a sharp cry from Gulf. Like clockwork.

Mew falls into a frenzied rhythm until Gulf suddenly stills and opens his eyes, making Mew stop with him. He can’t help but think he might like his Nong better when he is all _na rak._ Fiery Gulf likes to cut his fun short too much.

Gulf growls, “I need you to fuck me now, _teerak_ ,” eyes shining with desire.

Mew can’t argue with that.

He can feel Gulf’s fingers fumble with his belt, urgent and gauche and needy. Mew undoes the buttons and steps out of his slacks, kicking them aside.

“I think I have a newfound appreciation for this not wearing underwear situation you almost always have.” Gulf smirks at him before turning his attention to the exposed flesh.

“You make it sound very debauch.” Mew manages to huff out a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I think I’m going to start doing it for entirely different reasons now.”

Mew’s maroon tie dangles on his neck as he brings his hot and bare skin against Gulf’s and pushes him back to the top of the desk, the hard lines of their bodies seared together. Gulf watches through a haze of arousal as Mew reaches at the bottom drawer of the desk and fishes out a condom and a bottle of lube. His _faen_ watches him with hooded eyes as he rolls the rubber on the flushed and angry protruding flesh. Mew coats himself generously, pumping once, twice, still managing to be graceful even in his haste.

There was a beat of silence, a quiet exhale, before Mew grabs Gulf’s wrist and says, “Turn around, _tua-eng_.”

Gulf turns around and bares himself without further prompting. The anxious need to grab him and fuck him senseless is almost harrowing.

The blunt head of Mew’s heavy cock slides past his rim. He tries to keep Gulf from writhing as Mew splits him wide, fat and hot, every little scrape at his insides causing a sharp burn. By the time he is fully buried in Gulf’s body, Mew is almost certain he is already on the brink of his self-restraint.

“Are you alright?” he asks the man currently sprawled under him, rubbing tiny circles on his shoulders.

Gulf turns to look at him as best as he can in his current position, all resolve in his voice, “Hurry up and fuck me.”

Mew spares a look of bewilderment at his Nong before he buries himself to the hilt. Unwilling to deny his lover anything, Mew moves his hands to Gulf’s hips and meets him on a thrust that left both of them gasping for breath.

“Bossy,” he chuckles, kissing his shoulder, teasing him before pushing in without any more warning. He hears Gulf gasp as he works his hips, thrusting and kissing the back of his neck and all the reddened flesh he can find. Mew can feel the sweat bead and roll off of him, every thrust sending him on pins and needles.

“Fuck,” Gulf groans, the muscles in his thighs against Mew’s own. Gulf pushes back, spine arched, hands holding onto the edge of the desk. “Harder.”

Mew leans down until he is flushed against Gulf’s back. He nibbles at his earlobe before whispering, “Say please, _tua-eng_.”

He can feel Gulf breathing heavily underneath him, his body in a slow shudder as he breathes in and out.

“No.”

Mew chuckles. _Of course_. He is simultaneously endeared and aroused and he thanks all his lucky stars that he is able to see all these versions of Gulf in all his naked and unabashed glory.

Mew withdraws painfully slow, Gulf’s noises of frustration increasing louder with every drag. “Baby, I can do this all day,” he tells him before slamming down on him once again, sending the other man keeling.

_“Fuuuck.”_

Mew starts to withdraw again, sinfully slow that has become almost agonizing even for him. But he refuses to give in to the raging fire inside him. He cannot deny Gulf anything, but this time he refuses to give him what he wants. He loves it when he’s like this, gasping and writhing and almost begging for it. He came to the studio with an agenda, that much is clear. Mew plans to make that agenda his own as well.

_“M-Mew.”_ Gulf is huffing now, his body a map of flushed skin. “Oh god. _H-Harder_.”

“Say please,” Mew whispers to his ear.

A hand comes up to his head to keep him in place. “ _Mew,_ ” he whimpers breathily, but the harsh grip of his hand in Mew’s hair says differently.

“Gets you all hot and bothered, doesn’t it?” Mew mouths at his ear. He has to bite his lip to prevent his hips shifting forward into the damp heat.

The moment Gulf's control breaks, Mew almost sighs in relief.

“P-please, daddy. _Fuck_. Fuck me harder. _Please_.”

Leaving no room for hesitation, Mew grips Gulf’s hips, the veins on his hands growing more defined. He withdraws almost completely before slamming home again with a growl. He fucks him with all the conceivable finesse he can muster, and it was so fucking good that Mew can already feel his orgasm threatening to overtake him after only a few thrusts.

Mew yanks Gulf’s hips, eager to use him, to pound on his plush cheeks. His foot brushes against the fabric of his neglected pants as he opens Gulf’s legs wider, Mew guiding the roll of his hips as he fucks into him, setting up a brutal pace.

“Make me come,” Gulf chants, head lolling forward and Mew just has to latch onto the bared flesh. “Mew, fuck me good, make me come, daddy, please.”

“You want me to fuck you?” Mew whispers. “Want me to fuck you so good? Fuck tua-eng ‘til he forgets his own name?”

Gulf moans, long and low, one which makes Mew feel hot, and mad, and manic. He wants him to come with Mew’s name on his lips. He wants him to limp on his way out. He wants it fast and rough and hard, and Mew wanted him. He wants to fuck the living daylights out of him because only Mew can.

Mew pants and groans, caught in a fever as he thrusts inside Gulf harder and harder, making him lift up on the balls of his feet and curl his toes. He arches, trying to get the angle right so Mew hit that spot that went straight to his dick.

_“_ _Fuck, fuck, fuck,”_ Gulf says over and over.

Mew thrusts into him, and Gulf meets him on every stroke. The room is filled with the sound of their bodies coming together and Gulf moaning, almost crying along with it. It’s so good, Gulf's body is so good underneath him. He watches Gulf fist himself, hand working faster and faster in time with Mew.

“Shit,” Mew grunts, watching him, bending to press an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. “So good,” he slurs. “So good, oh fuck, you’re so good.” His voice is pinched and tight, and he knows he isn’t going to last longer.

Gulf sobs, biting his other hand, and Mew kisses his back, mouthing along his shoulder, hands barely even working as Gulf rides him.

Mew takes him deep, grinding into that one spot. _“Please, please, please,”_ Gulf chants. His voice is strung out to a whine, and he jerks forward as Mew keeps thrusting into him.

Almost immediately, Gulf’s body tenses, and he chokes out Mew's name with a cry, spurts of white painting the tiled floor.

It drives Mew frantic and he speeds up his thrusts, his grunts loud and unbridled. He feels it build up and he comes with a sobbed, nearly inscrutable exaltation that sounded suspiciously like, “Love you,” eyes squeezed shut, breathing through the mercurial high.

***

He glances back at the closed doors and silently thanks Buddha once again that they were thick enough to trap whatever is going on inside. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to meet his boss in the eye if he even so much as hears a whisper of it. He loves his job, yes, that isn’t a question. But his boss was looking at his faen with a Look™. He shudders at the thought.

The elevator doors ding, and one of the road managers walks past him in a flurry of paperwork, only sparing him a nod. She’s walking straight to the boss’ office and before she can start for the knob, he surprises her with a loud, “No!”

She startles out of her trance and turns to him with confusion marring her face. She raises her brows in a silent question.

He stares at her with wide-eyes, unable to shake the vision of pure aghastness had he not stop her in time. “Umm,” he starts, trying to mentally sift through all the excuses he has already prepared in case the scenario warrants it. The situation clearly needs it, judging by the impatient scowl the manager is already giving him. “The boss is in a meeting.”

“I thought he already decided to postpone the Harlem expansion.” Her scowl deepens. “You were the one who made the memo in the work channel.”

“He’s in a _meeting_ meeting,” he tells her lamely. Even that sounded totally unconvincing inside his head.

She looks at him suspiciously. “There’s nothing on the schedule.”

He sighs mentally. He has played scenes out in his head, but imagining them and having them play out right before his eyes are different things entirely. “Khun Gulf is in.” He wonders if he’s doing it to spare her, or spare himself. He figures it’s just better to get it over with. “They both had that Look™.”

The look so famous everyone in the studio immediately knows what it’s about. Only a very few have ever seen it, but that didn’t stop it in becoming the hottest topic in the office rumor mill.

The manager gives him a whispered _Ohhh_ , her eyebrows raised in understanding. Realization dawns on her as she cringes at what she has almost done. She spares him a glance and a nod before she retreats, heading to the hall, back to her office.

Just before the elevator doors ding once again, muffled thuds resonate from inside the closed office.

No. Nope. He doesn’t want to know. He hastily grabs the noise-muffling earphones he bought a month prior. Expensive, but a worthy investment.

He sighs, audibly this time, and silently prays there will no longer be any more of it.

Nong Stu needs a raise.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, Nong Stu ;-;


End file.
